More than an ampersand distinguishes the latest version of
Pride & Prejudice from the much-loved 1995 BBC
miniseries, which starred a famously heartthrobbing Colin
Firth as the penultimate Mr. Darcy. In this big-screen adaptation,
Darcy is played by Matthew Macfadyen as a saturnine hangdog
whose blue eyes resolutely do not smolder. Nor do his rejoinders
sting, nor his supplications soar. Macfadyen’s utter lack
of romantic élan is a nearly fatal omission in director Joe
Wright’s sturdily faithful version. Nearly, but not quite.
With Keira Knightley playing a firecracker Elizabeth Bennett,
Darcy’s stubborn amour, along with a strong supporting cast
and a lavish production that makes previous versions appear
a trifle shabby, Pride & Prejudice proves yet again
that Jane Austen’s cinematic appeal is inexhaustible.

Adapted by Deborah Moggach in the style of Emma Thompson,
the film centers on the Bennett household, where Mrs. Bennett
(a delightful Brenda Blethyn) is desperately trying to marry
off her five daughters. Opening with long and bustling tracking
shots accompanied by obnoxious amounts of giggling, the film
soon settles down to the business at hand. And business it
is: If the girls don’t marry, they risk destitution once their
comfortable manor passes from their father (Donald Sutherland)
to a male cousin. The screenplay adroitly keeps this monetary
imperative in mind without dwelling on it, as well is should:
More so than in other Austen novels, romance will trump social
realism.

Or will it? Only if Elizabeth can overcome her pride and bold
tongue, and Mr. Darcy his prejudices, particularly toward
social inferiors such as the unpretentious Bennetts (Mrs.
Bennett enjoys herself heartily without regard to propriety;
the younger sisters are giddy ninnies). Meanwhile, Jane (Rosamund
Pike), Elizabeth’s lovelier older sister, is in danger of
losing her heart’s desire, the amiable and conveniently wealthy
Mr. Bingley (Simon Woods), because her shy reserve is perceived
as lack of affection. Complications ensue with the meddling
of Bingley’s snobby sister (Kelly Reilly) and the arrival
of Mr. Wickham (Rupert Friend), a handsome military officer
with an eye for Lizzie. Both Woods and Friend are attractive
and dashing enough to have been a better choice as Darcy,
while Elizabeth’s most engaging repartee occurs in her verbal
duels with Reilly’s superbly viperish Miss Bingley. Since
Darcy comes off as being too timid and weary to affect any
social graces, rather than too arrogant, there isn’t any pomposity
for Elizabeth to puncture.

In many scenes, Knightley is overly contemporary; during Elizabeth’s
first intimate run-in with Darcy, she snarls to a teeth- baring
degree. And she lacks the soulful depths of other Austen heroines
such as Frances O’Connor and Kate Winslet. But perhaps more
importantly, Knightley is faultless in her delivery of the
whip-crack dialogue, even in the face of Macfadyen’s inadequacies.

Sensibly enough (and apparently under the influence of Ang
Lee’s Sense andSensibility), Wright allows
the story’s social and domestic rhythms to develop (captured
with stellar camera work), giving time to Elizabeth’s relationships
with her older sister, her mother, and more affectingly, her
reticent father. And in the end, her romance with Darcy is
saved by the gorgeous art direction. Along with stunning long
shots of Elizabeth alone on the heath and an estimable quantity
of startled geese, Wright deftly applies an early-morning
mist and stirring piano music to generate a sense of romance
just when it’s most needed.

Found
in Space

Zathura

Directed
by Jon Favreau

One of the things that my family and I liked best about Zathura
was not digitalized monsters or special effects, but the way
it perfectly nails the often stormy relationships among siblings.
Ten-year-old Walter (Josh Hutcherson) is a naturally gifted
athlete, whose prized time playing catch with Dad (Tim Robbins)
is often interrupted by the needs of the less coordinated,
but much more imaginative Danny (Jonah Bobo), who is 6. When
forced to interact, or at least inhabit the same living space,
the two nitpick, argue, whine or, in Walter’s particular case,
simply ignore the existence of that which annoys him—namely,
the little brother. Early in Zathura, a business emergency
forces dad to the office, leaving a bored Walter watching
endless recaps on ESPN. Meanwhile, Danny discovers a 1950s-era
board game called Zathura under the dumbwaiter. “Play with
me, please?” implores the younger brother, and before
you can say, well, Zathura, the instructions on the game’s
cards, such as “Meteor shower: Take evasive action,” actually
happen, within the house. To put it mildly, all hell breaks
loose.

Unlike Jumanji, also based on a Chris Van Allsburg
story about a board game come to life, Zathura revels
in the joys and sorrows of real childhood. Zathura
relies heavily on real emotions and human interactions. Even
the demonic robot and dastardly alien creatures appear more
the inspiration of a child’s imagination than of overgrown
techno-geeks working in Hollywood. Such touches prove important
in making the film both an enjoyable family movie and one
that trades on wonder and amazement as opposed to shock and
awe.

Without big stars and expensive special effects, director
Jon Favreau and screenwriters David Koepp and John Kamps are
forced to rely on the acting talents of Hutcherson, Bobo and,
to a smaller extent, Kristen Stewart as their teenage sister
Lisa. Luckily, this gamble pays off, as these youngsters deliver
fiercely individualized performances that make them seem,
well, like real kids, and not like cute actors delivering
lines. Halfway through the movie, a wayward astronaut (Dax
Shepard) appears to save the day, at least momentarily, and
infuse some deeper meaning into the game. Much like a very
young Harrison Ford, Shepard commands attention with his folksy,
grounded coolness; and like Ford, the actor has the ability
to stay off of preachy ground. When he quietly instructs Walter
that “some games cannot be played alone,” we get the deeper
meaning.

Throughout Zathura, as the pressures and dangers mount,
and the house—beautifully mounted and depicted by, respectively,
production designer J. Michael Riva and cinematographer Guillermo
Navarro—gradually buckles and implodes, the childlike enthusiasm
is palpable. From beginning to end, the suspense builds, so
that each ensuing card that gets spat out by the board game
has you on the edge of your seat, wondering what new challenge
the brothers will have to face. Just as remarkably, we wait,
with bated breath, to witness whether that new challenge will
result in a sense of teamwork between the brothers, or if
their inability to bridge differences will result in a devastating
conclusion. When’s the last time a board game did that for
you?

—Laura
Leon

It’s
Falling, So What?

Chicken
Little

Directed
by Mark Dindal

The title character in Disney’s first foray into digital animation
does not, repeat, does not, don a disco suit and boogie
up a storm—although promos for the movie have depicted him
doing just that. Sadly, this blatant attempt to get people
to the theaters is missing; too bad, because it might have
perked things up a bit. As it is, Chicken Little is
a pastiche of things that worked in other movies, notably
those by Pixar and Dreamworks.

While it’s visually appealing and imaginative, and features
top-notch vocal talent (particularly Zach Braff as our diminutive
hero), Chicken Little feels forced from the get-go.
The story, in an acorn shell, is that Chicken Little’s claim
that the sky is falling is quickly discounted by none other
than his own daddy, Buck Cluck (Garry Marshall); dad is a
former jock unsure of how to deal with his imaginative tyke
in the wake of Mrs. Cluck’s death. Buck just can’t relate
to him, and no amount of well-meaning advice from best friends
Abby Mallard (Joan Cusack) or Runt of the Litter (Steve Zahn)
helps.

Suddenly, there’s a whole side plot about Chicken Little’s
desire to play Little League; and then, just as suddenly,
an invasion by creatures from outer space, heralded by Chicken’s
second claim in a year that the sky is falling. What’s a guy
to do? Risk ridicule and do the Paul Revere thing, or sit
by quietly while, well, the sky falls?

So much stuff is plugged into a relatively short running time
that our ability to relate to anything is drastically affected.
There’s also something patently alarming in the movie’s depiction
of Buck’s callous treatment of his son. Granted, fairy tales
throughout history, like Snow White or Cinderella,
have had similar undertones. But with those stories, the reader
or viewer knows intrinsically that such behavior is wrong,
and that our protagonist will be vindicated; in Chicken
Little, there seems to be a complicity between filmmakers
and audience that such mistreatment is only to be expected.

The sudden prominence of the alien raid diverts focus from
the real family issues that exist in the Cluck household,
but then the filmmakers still try to use it as background
for some Oprah-like bonding. The result is a very strange
muddle. The gift of fame, the inevitably Hollywood happy ending
even for child characters—and not sheer altruism or charity—is
sufficient for Chicken Little to do the right thing by his
traitorous fellow animals. Chicken Little may have
all the requisite bells and whistles, but it’s curiously devoid
of anything resembling a soul.